


Dinner and a Drink

by i_am_a_hog



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Daydreaming, Dinner Parties, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, less than anonymous pub backrooms, possibly not ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_hog/pseuds/i_am_a_hog
Summary: Set before the events of the terror, at one of Sir John’s dinners. Fitzjames struggles with vivid memories of an intimate evening with Captain Crozier.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40
Collections: Fall Fitzier Exchange





	Dinner and a Drink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unlimited_Siggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlimited_Siggy/gifts).



> Yeehaw, lads. This is gay. Have fun <3

James Fitzjames is nervous; clammy hands and racing heart nervous. 

It’s just a dinner, he reminds himself but he knows that is not the truth.

James is not usually one to be nervous like this. Usually, the feeling is laced with excitement or pure adrenaline, but now his mind is racing while he looks at himself in the mirror. He has been standing here for what feels like eternity, checking every single detail of his uniform, every strand of his hair.

His hair is neatly curled, rounding out the sharp edges of his face, molding him into a strange but nonetheless good looking man, if he is honest. His right hand curls into a fist against the fabric of his uniform trousers, as he remembers the feeling of hands in his hair, rough and demanding, messing up his curls and perhaps his sanity. James presses his eyes shut in an attempt to bury the memories, but as soon as he does, he sees the face that has haunted his dreams. Captain Crozier, all rugged handsomeness and repressed anger, the man that holds a power over him, that James does not understand himself. The man that is the only reason why Commander James Fitzjames should be near terrified to show up to a friendly dinner with his future Captain and colleagues.

With a trembling breath, James forces himself to straighten his back, before turning to leave. He is looking perfectly acceptable for the night.

Yet, when he spies Crozier across the hall, talking to one of the Lieutenants, unaware of James, his heartbeat speeds up. 

* * *

_ Their breath between them had been laced with the taste of whiskey and the champagne James had had more than his share of during the night. Crozier’s lips were hungry, nipping at his jaw and neck, and James melted beneath his touch. He felt the warmth of the Captain’s hand through the fabric of his uniform, as he gripped his upper arm and James was sure an entirely undignified noise left his mouth when Crozier stepped closer for better access.  _

_ The Captain wasn’t a man of many words, James found, and usually it annoyed him, but on this occasion, it was probably for the best. His eyes were harsh, slightly hazy from the alcohol, and entirely focused on James. There was none of the heat James had surely written all over himself. James tried to move in for a kiss, grabbing the back of Crozier’s head and neck, attempting to get him closer, attempting to get a taste of those lips. But Crozier resisted, leaving James to curl his fingers into the greying hair. It was surprisingly soft under James’ fingertips, which somehow added to the arousal that was pooling in his groin - _

* * *

“James?”

He needs a moment to come back to the present. Le Vesconte is standing in front of him, eyebrows raised and watching him mildly bewildered. 

“Dundy,” James replies and tries not to blush; his gaze almost instantly snaps back to Crozier, before he can control himself.

“Are you not feeling well?”

James holds back the hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat, swallows it down in favour for a trained and controlled smile.

“I’m perfectly fine - lost in thought, I suppose.” A bad lie, and one that Dundy can tell from the way he looks at him. Thankfully, he lets it go and starts talking about his activities of the past two weeks - a surprising lot, given he had the same 14 days as everybody else. James has to force himself to concentrate, lest his thoughts wander back to Crozier and his lips and his -

A bell is rung, dinner is served and the twitch in James’ trousers is being stubbornly ignored. He is seated next to Miss Cracroft, pleasant company, though James has come to quietly envy her ability to draw Crozier’s eyes to herself almost effortlessly. Opposite of her, Lady Jane Franklin takes her seat, while between them, at the head of the table, Sir John remains standing, no doubt to give a short but encouraging speech.

And across from James, as should be expected and exactly as he has feared, a stone-faced, ice-blue eyed Francis Crozier sits down. 

* * *

_ James could feel Crozier’s hand fumbling lower, between them, jerking back when his thumb nudged at the bulge in the front of his trousers. The Captain let out a huff of a laugh against James’ neck and all he could do was throw his head back with a thump when it hit the wall Crozier had pushed him up against. His hands were still on the Captain’s neck, feeling the sea-roughed skin against his own skin, while Crozier worked open his fly. He wasn’t gentle with him, taking James’ dick into his hand as soon as he pushed the fabric out of the way, it was dry and almost painful, but even so, James could not suppress a moan. _

_ Immediately, a hand came up against his mouth, silencing him, while Crozier’s eyes gave the according command. “Shut up.” Crozier crudely spit into his palm before going back into James’ pants, proceeding with his motions, his rhythm, his torture, before he suddenly stopped - _

* * *

Applause! James is clapping, because everyone else is clapping as well. Two chairs over, Sir John sits down at the head of the table and smiles, satisfied. James has not listened to a single thing he said, but he smiles and nods when Sir John looks at him. He does not dare look directly ahead at Captain Crozier. James is not sure if or how he will get through the evening.

The first taste of a glass of champagne eases his mind a little. He just needs to relax -

* * *

_ Relax. Crozier had turned him around, shoved his trousers down past his knees, rendering James basically immobile, his back arched, arse on perfect display to the Captain. _

_ “Relax,” Crozier said. The word cut harshly through the symphony of ragged breaths that left James’ lungs. He tried to relax, found it hard, the painful arousal abandoned, while behind him it sounded like Crozier was taking care of himself. Just when James was contemplating if he should turn around and take matters - or Crozier’s prick - into his own hands, he felt a slick finger tracing over his hole. He nearly choked on his gasp.  _

_ “Relax,” Crozier repeated, under his breath, and thrust the finger in. It was sudden, rough and exactly what James needed. He bit his lips to hold back a moan. _

_ “Yes,” he answered, voice cracking on the single vowel. _

_ Crozier stilled for a moment, breath hitching as if he wanted to say something, but James was faster. _

_ “Yes, Sir,” he corrected himself. He was immediately rewarded by a second finger, fucking into him, forcing him to relax, relax. _

_ Relax. _

* * *

Dinner is served, someone is reaching over James’ shoulder, bringing him back into the present and incidentally directly under the calculating stare of Captain Crozier. There is something in his eyes that makes James squirm in his seat, but luckily, Sophia next to him starts speaking at this moment. He pretends to listen, nods absentmindedly, while he can feel Crozier’s eyes practically drill a hole into the side of his skull.

The food is good, James should enjoy it, but he can barely concentrate on anything; under the table, he is feeling the effects of what he remembers, a problem he has not considered when he accepted the invitation. Frankly, nothing could have prepared him for it.

* * *

_ James was prepared, braced against the wall, feeling empty, when Crozier pressed against him. The head of his prick felt hot at James’ entrance and he was eager now, impossibly more eager than before, pushing back against Crozier. A hand settled on his hip, strong, coarse, and damp, keeping James in place. _

_ “Come on,” he grit through his teeth. The invitation - almost a plea - seemed to change Crozier’s mind about going slow, the pressure increased, as he pushed into James, stretching him out, going deeper, deeper until his thighs pressed tightly against the back of James’ arse. He was big. Bigger than James had expected, the moan that left his mouth closer to a sob now. Crozier’s fingers were digging into the flesh at his hips; James was breathing heavily, deeply aware of the Captain behind him.  _

_ Crozier started moving slowly, pulling out almost entirely, then pushing back in, as if to see if James could take him before he sped up. He paid no mind to James’s leaking dick, to his desperate noises or his grasping hands, as he drove into James and took his pleasure. _

_ Crozier was getting close to climax; through the haze of arousal, James registered the pants and grunts accompanying the thrusts, mixing with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and his own incoherent noises. His knees almost gave out when Crozier reached around for James’ prick, jerking him off quickly, roughly, efficiently, and within a minute, James felt his entire body seize up; he was being held up only by being trapped between Crozier and the wall when he spent all over Crozier’s hand while the Captain continued slamming into him twice, thrice more before he too finished. James felt the hot spend fill him up, then Crozier pulled out, stepped back, and James slid down the wall. White. _

* * *

White bread. The conversation is about white bread and James has no idea how they got there; even Crozier has things to say on the topic, and James just pretends to concentrate on his plate. The food is almost cold by now, but James doesn’t mind. He just wants to get this over with. Just wants to leave, to flee from whatever emotional minefield he is currently navigating. 

Sir John says something. James doesn’t listen, but he does nod when Sir John asks “right, James?”

“Of course,” he says. “Excuse my wandering thoughts, it seems I’m a little out of sorts tonight,” he adds. The Franklins nod and accept his weak excuse.

The way Crozier looks at him at that comment reminds James of waking up, breaching the surface of the water and breathing in.

* * *

_ Waking up in a bed was not what James had expected. He was still pleasantly drunk and rolled around, opening his eyes only to find Crozier watching him. _

_ “You’re heavy,” he opened with. _

_ James was unsure what to say. After all, he hadn’t asked to be carried around. On the other hand, he was feeling thoroughly embarrassed; he had never passed out like that before.  _ _  
_ _ “And you’re still hard,” Crozier continued. James hadn’t noticed, but looking down at himself, the captain was right. His dick, half-hard was lying against his thigh. When Crozier reached for it, a gasp escaped James’ lips. It was different to be in a bed, more intimate. Crozier’s eyes were trained on James’ groin but something had changed in the air between them - this was no longer about hatred for the other, or a way to let out something neither of them had a word for.  _

* * *

“A word from our very own hero! James Fitzjames!”

The mention of his name shakes James out of his daydream. Perhaps nightmare would be more fitting. He clears his throat and forces a smile. Usually he would have stood for one of his tales. Tonight he doesn’t. He can’t, unless he wants everyone to know what his thoughts were really occupied with.

“Thank you,” he starts and thanks God that he knows his stories without having to think about them.

James scrambles through the tale, feels Crozier’s eyes on him regularly, but can’t meet them. Not here, not now.

* * *

_ Crozier maneuvered them around, until James was lying beneath him, opening his shirt to his navel, before he closed his lips around one of James’ nipples. His hand wandered between James’ legs, finding his entrance, still slick and tender. James moaned into the empty room, half-expecting Crozier’s hand to silence him again, but instead, the ice-blue eyes looked up at James, darkening. _

_ “You like that, huh?” _

_ James nodded. His breath caught, when he tried to form words.  _

_ He felt Crozier’s dick press against him again and swallowed. Suddenly, he was painfully hard again, his prick trapped between them, while Crozier was slowly, so excruciatingly slowly going in. A drawn out moan from James had Crozier looking at him, eyes dark now, his lips slightly agape and at once, James couldn’t think of anything better than kissing him or being kissed senseless by him. _

* * *

Dessert. Vanilla sauce that looked too much like another white substance to leave James entirely unfazed. He doesn’t finish his portion. Across from him Crozier looks quite absent as well, while Sir John does not seem to notice anything amiss at all. 

* * *

_ That time was different from the first. Crozier went slower, impossibly deeper, while he let James touch himself between them. Their sounds of ecstasy, moans, panted breaths, cries, heated up the room, made the atmosphere more intense, the experience more electric. James felt like he was losing his mind - the alcohol in his veins was adding to the pleasure, putting him into a state of exhilaration quite unlike anything he had felt before. Crozier above him, his strong and solid form, broad and unforgiving, grasped James’ other hand, entwined their fingers. _

_ The rhythm they had was less brutal now: Delicious bouts of pleasure shot through James with every thrust, he felt tender and exhausted and so, so full, and the thought of the captain, fucking his own spend even deeper inside James made him produce ungodly noises. It was then that Crozier did the unexpected. Without a second of warning, without so much as a blink, he leaned in and captured James’ lips. The kiss was desperate and James could taste the whiskey. _

* * *

Whiskey. James takes a swig. He understands now, what Crozier likes about the drink.

Dinner is over, but James knows he must stay for a little while before he can leave without making a scene. He is sitting in an armchair, a glass of whiskey in hand, the other gripping his own thigh. Maybe he only likes the whiskey because it reminds him of how Crozier tasted.

And speaking of the devil, of course Crozier is coming up to him, standing next to James’ armchair while watching the room.

“Quite the night,” he remarks. James nearly swallows his tongue. 

“Indeed,” he manages to say.

He doesn’t need to look up at Crozier to know that his eyes are cold as the ice again.

“Of course you had to get all dressed up, didn’t you.” 

James swallows; before he can come up with an answer, Crozier is gone from his side, leaving James with the taste of whiskey and his own thrice-damned memories.

* * *

_ Crozier’s thrusts got faster then, with every kiss he seemed to become more desperate and closer to finishing yet again, and still it felt like an eternity of bliss to James. It happened without a warning. Crozier merely drove into him harder, hips stuttering, and then James could feel the heat pooling inside of himself, as the captain collapsed on top of him with a raspy groan.  _

_ James came remarkably fast after that, spending between them, his prick pulsating almost painfully, as Crozier panted against James’ cheek. Their lips met in another kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy. _

_ This time, James didn’t pass out. Instead, he realised with mortification what had just happened. He scrambled from the bed, tried desperately to make himself presentable before leaving. If Crozier called after him, it was too quiet for James to hear.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it <3
> 
> Comments and kudos welcome, as always ;)


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